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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635068">act 1: but soft! what smoke through yonder window breaks?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyengold/pseuds/hyengold'>hyengold</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>peace was never an option: a play in two acts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Attempt at Humor, Balcony Scene, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Han Jisung | Han is a Little Shit, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Little Shit, M/M, Slow Burn, Smoking, chan is trying his best, dude what the fuck is jisung's catchphrase just go with it, felix is like that one gay friend except they're all gay, idiots to lovers, if pining only starts at 7k does it count as slow burn, jisung is straight presenting?? is that a thing??, like they actually need to chill, or as a dear friend put it, slow to fall fast to pine, the lovers part hasn't quite been reached yet, there are a thousand and one loopholes in this im so sorry, they're both little shits its just how it is, this plays out like a comedy don't think too much about it, tons of swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:34:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,991</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyengold/pseuds/hyengold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Hey! Asshole!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The yell rings into empty silence. Minho exhales deeply through his nose. Surprisingly, even though his professor isn't there for him to personally deck, he still feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his chest. Relieved through means of cathartic screaming, Minho turns back to his work, ready to start tackling more theory-</p><p>  <em>"You talking to me?"</em></p><p>or: Minho yells at his smoking neighbour below his balcony one day, and finds himself in a standoff, with absolutely no sexual tension involved whatsoever.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Kim Seungmin/Lee Felix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>peace was never an option: a play in two acts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MINSUNG FICATHON: Round One; 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>act 1: but soft! what smoke through yonder window breaks?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*runs up to the camera, panting* LOOK MOM I WROTE FOR A FICFEST</p><p>this is written for <a href="https://twitter.com/minsungficathon">minsung ficathon</a> with the prompt p012: Minho and Jisung are apartment neighbors. Person A likes studying in his terrace because of the view. Also, he concentrates more. Meanwhile, Person B is a douche who likes to smoke whatever the time of the day is.</p><p>i have to admit i took a bit of my own spin on this prompt and somehow ended up with This. the title comes from shakespeare's romeo and juliet, because Balcony Scene,, it'll make sense. to the person who sent this amazing prompt, i really hope you enjoy the take i did, and as much as i like to think i'm psychic please forgive me if i didn't meet any of your expectations 😔 </p><p>anywhos, i really pulled out all the stops to actually complete this and then (spoiler alert) i didn't even finish the thing (because School Is A Bitch, what's new). so,, that's a wonderful start to my first actual ficfest entry. i also need to give a shoutout to the mod for this ficathon. minsung mod, if you're reading this, you are so incredible and i really appreciate all your understanding about all the difficulties i had writing this hsdkjfhsdf i hope u don't blacklist me for any future ficfests ily,,,,,,</p><p>i can't think of anything else to say to explain myself, happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Minho has to admit, he’s taken aback by his own genius sometimes.</p><p>As he lugs his backpack stuffed to the brim with studying materials through the glass doors, he once more gives himself a pat on the back and marvels at his true innate brilliance for coming up with this grand scheme. </p><p>Before him stand the peeking tips of the foliage that surrounds the apartment complex in artificial plots, paired with the flat roofs of the colourful blocks just across the road, all covered by a clear blue dome frosted with fluffy white clouds. With no distracting doohickeys in sight it is an idyllic scenery, and apparently exactly what Minho’s five-year-old mentality needs to calm down and fully focus on his revision.</p><p>Minho from four days ago had been in a miserable slump. He had been undergoing a veritable collapse in his persistence to beat up his own dumb gay brain with all sorts of technical jargon, staring morosely at endless piles of his own trash in his wasteland of a desk like the main character of a depressing music video. He was wandering the dry desertscape of his own mind, sapped of inspiration, desperately thirsting for just a drop of revitalising motivation. And then, one fine stormy afternoon, that motivation struck like lightning.</p><p>“If my brain won’t work,” he told Felix, while bingeing on cheap snacks on the sidewalk under the meagre shelter of the convenience store tarp, “then my hot piece of ass will.”</p><p>Felix, a fellow dance crew member and Minho’s unofficial fourth cat, wrinkled his nose “What hot piece of ass?” he asked doubtfully as he took another bite of his strawberry ice cream. Yes, <em> bite </em>, because Minho had not yet educated his dear kitten in the civilised manners of proper ice cream etiquette. It’s a work in progress.</p><p>Minho heaved a loud sigh, disappointed in Felix’s apparent lack of faith in his sex potential. “An ass so hot your pure eyes are too innocent to handle it.”</p><p>“I’ve seen things before-” Felix argued back, only to be shut up by a lone finger placed to his mouth.</p><p>Minho let his trademark sly smirk slip across his face. “All I’m saying is, I have a career as a male stripper ahead of me. I hear they’re in big demand these days in the industry.”</p><p>With a scowl Felix shoved Minho’s intrusive hand aside and took another obstinate bite of his ice cream. “Aren’t you majoring in computer science right now? I’m sure customers will love to hear you whisper code into the mic as you charm them with your sexy wiring skills.”</p><p>“Ah-ah!” Minho tutted, cutting Felix off once more. This was <em>his</em> tragic monologue, he wasn’t going to let some <em>Aussie</em> <em>dudebro</em> snag his spotlight. “That’s assuming I even <em>pass</em> my final exams, which by the looks of my current state of productivity, will only happen once Professor Park gets a wife.”</p><p>Felix gasped, ice cream nearly tipping over in his shock. “It’s <em> that </em> bad?”</p><p>Minho gazed despondently down at the curb, which was slowly but surely accumulating the floating trash on the overflowing roads, pushed along by the impregnable current of dirty rainwater. "It's that bad," he confirmed.</p><p>"What's gotten you so unvibed?" Felix pressed. "Usually you're in your highest gear right about now."</p><p>Minho ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Firstly, <em> never </em> say 'unvibed' again. I will physically disable your larynx if you try.”</p><p>“Fine then,” Felix said. “Bitch vibes.”</p><p>Minho rolled his eyes, but let it slide. “Secondly; I dunno, the mess distracts me. It’s difficult trying to concentrate when you have leftover ramen stinking up your left and an unruly pile of files nearly falling off the edge of your tiny desk to your right. It’s the kind of scene that would give Marie Kondo a seizure.”</p><p>Felix whistled. “That is <em> not </em> how you should be studying. Why don’t you try to find an alternative place instead? The library’s not too far from your place and there are a few nice cafes-”</p><p>“Other people are equally distracting, and cafes are a capitalist scheme to rip off money from financially destitute students to keep them tethered to student debt,” Minho deadpanned. “So, hard pass from me.”</p><p>“Okay, fine,” Felix replied. “Are there any outdoorsy places? Any locations to get nice fresh air and a clean environment to relax?”</p><p>Minho scoffed, not mockingly, just out of annoyance. “I live right in the middle of a residential area, the closest I’m going to get to a park is the tiny plot of trees by the side of the road. Not very relaxing, if you ask me.”</p><p>Felix huffed. “I’m trying to work with you here, hyung, please be grateful.”</p><p>Minho froze at those words. “Of course I am, Bokkie,” he rushed to reassure. “Hyung’s just frustrated.”</p><p>Over the course of years upon years of feedback Minho had been told he’s too blunt for his own good. Oftentimes he’d realised he had been completely unaware whenever he was being insensitive, and until now he’s been working on it. Felix may have gotten accustomed to Minho’s antics but the boy was very emotional as a person. And Minho had to take responsibility for that.</p><p>Felix blinked once, before his lips broke out into a sheepish beam. “I know, don’t worry! I just want to protect myself from seeing you twerk on a pole. It’s self-protection! You understand.”</p><p>At this Minho quickly jabbed his fingers out in a lightning attack on the younger. “You brat!”</p><p>Felix squealed and was quick to spring up and dash away from Minho as he yelled more joking threats under the light drizzle. But even after he’d settled the score with a rough noogie and a promise to meet for lunch before the next dance session, Felix’s words stuck with Minho. An outdoor study space… the more Minho thought about it, the more tempting the idea seemed. That night, while he was busy slurping down his third bowl of ramen of the week whilst bingeing a drama, his eyes lazily drifted to the clear sliding door that laid just beyond the delineation of the laptop. As he stared, an idea began forming in his mind…</p><p>… to lead up to Minho, four days from that moment, with Felix and himself (but mostly himself) to thank for this ingenious solution. The location in combination with the Pomodoro Youtube video were an unstoppable duo. The first time Minho attempted it, he completed two whole topics by the end of the video. True, unadulterated Genius.</p><p>Minho takes a deep breath of the clean air as he observes the skyline from his view at his terrace. There are a lot of things to hate about cities, but in times like this it’s nice to step back and take a genuine, appreciative survey of the cityscape. Whenever Minho starts getting wistful for his family home back in town, sights like these help placate those stirring feelings of longing. With a satisfied hum, Minho digs his study materials out, and gets to work cramming.</p>
<hr/><p>Minho is reminded of why he hates cities so much.</p><p>For here he sits, irately sniffing, detecting in the fresh wafts of air, obtrusive hints of none other than the acrid stench of <em> cigarette smoke </em>.</p><p>Minho exclaims in disgust, wrinkling his nose in great offence. But after a bunch of obsessive sniffing and grumbling, he decides to let it go. He is a generous person; grudges are too petty and beneath someone of his largesse. (Felix snorts loudly when he tells him as much during their next session.) He gets half a topic finished that day. </p><p>In his next few sessions, the unwelcome guest appears more and more frequently, making Minho growl in frustration whenever he smells even a <em> phantom </em> of that horrid odour. At one point, he storms back into the house to grab his mask, and shoves it onto his face before continuing. </p><p>And it’s infuriating. He should not be forced to resort to such measures in his own house! It certainly doesn’t help that his ever-looming finals are creeping closer with each dip the sun makes beneath the skyscrapers in the distance. He knows, however, that complaining to his landlord is useless, because his landlord is a massive asshole, who would put on a fake grin, promise to look into the issue, and proceed to never even step foot out of his office. That kind of asshole.</p><p>Alternatives are absolutely out of the question too, not with his exams coming so soon. In all honesty, even with the intrusions into his space, Minho actually does get work done. And after officially dropping his crusty desk, Minho cannot bear to go back to that standard, like some delusional ex-girlfriend clinging way too hard to a trash dude she should definitely be over. No. Minho is better than that.</p><p>So Minho grits his teeth and deals with it, even as he notices his productivity slowly dropping. Agitation doesn’t sit well in his skin when what he really needs is calm.</p><p>He figures just as much when he slams his door shut, uncaring of the fierce shudders of the wall, and hurls his backpack to the side before tossing himself onto his tiny sofa. He has a very very unusual urge to scream his lungs out, out of genuine emotion. The tinny voice of his professor rings in his brain, telling him incessantly that he has three assignments to complete and one milestone check to submit, all while he needs to have twenty topics imprinted into his brain like a red-hot brand on cold steel by the end of the week after next. His life is <em> filled </em> with assholes, his landlord, his professor, that jerk downstairs who seems to smoke <em> every time </em> he needs a peaceful environment to find his inner zen and <em> study </em>.</p><p>And, as always, when he steps out onto his terrace, gripping his bag with unnecessary strength and almost punching his plastic chair into the floor, that oh-so-familiar scent graces his senses once more. He takes a single breath, and screams into his mental void.</p><p>That’s it. Minho fucking swears to whatever god exists out there, that is the <em> final. Straw </em>. Summoning up all his internal rage, all his frustrations and inner demons, he gathers it up into one furious roar that echoes in the vicinity.</p><p>“<em>Hey! Asshole!</em>”</p><p>The yell rings into empty silence. Minho exhales deeply through his nose. Surprisingly, even though his professor isn't there for him to personally deck, he still feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his chest. Relieved through means of cathartic screaming, Minho turns back to his work, ready to start tackling more theory-</p><p>"<em>You talking to me</em>?"</p><p>Minho may have frozen in his movements, but his blood starts to boil real hot. That… that isn't his asshole professor. In fact, the voice is completely foreign to him. But that isn’t the problem. The problem is something almost indescribable in this stranger’s voice yet oh-so-significant; something cocky, abrasive, like he would march into a diner like he owns it, slap the waitress’ rear and smoke a cigarette while waiting for his food. Like the one he must be smoking now.</p><p>“Are you the walking cancer smoke machine?” Minho hollers back, making sure to add a growl in his voice for intimidation.</p><p>“Chill out, why don’t you, dickwad? It’s just a puff, it’s not like I’m right next to you anyway.”</p><p><em> “ </em> I CAN STILL SMELL IT, BITCH! <em> ” </em> Minho’s fist is clenched so hard for a half second he’s afraid his bones might shatter, but that is immediately swamped by an even hotter surge of anger when this smoking phantom shouts back:</p><p>“THAT SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM, BITCH!”</p><p>“Curses,” Minho seethes to himself, resisting the compelling urge to punch his chair and knock over all his materials. “May the evillest of curses befall this asshole.”</p>
<hr/><p>Out of all the new normals Minho has expected to have to adapt to in the city, this was certainly not one of them.</p><p>As the deadlines of his exams creep ever closer, he finds himself not only exhausting his mind, but his lungs with every progressive screaming match he seems to have with the person he has come to affectionately nickname "Asshole". Likewise, Minho is quite sure he is exclusively known to the unknown perpetrator as “Dickwad”. How loving.</p><p>Of course, there are good days, when Asshole isn’t around to antagonise Minho’s bronchioles. At this point, these rare gems are the only reason why Minho hasn’t completely given up on the study terrace initiative.</p><p>But <em> God </em> knows that prick gets on his goddamn nerves.</p><p>Somehow, <em> somehow </em> , this devil reincarnate manages to match Minho’s normally debilitating wit, blow for blow, every single time, sometimes even leaving Minho spluttering in a loss for words. Each instance the phantom smoker seems to gain the upper hand, Minho is filled with so much righteous rage he even stoops to <em> Googling </em> insults on the internet to save his dignity. It’s not like whomever he squabbles with can see him, right? And he admits that some of the attacks aren’t half bad. Like the bad breath one. Why hadn’t he thought of that one before?</p><p>At some point, Minho realises, in a natural escalation of events, that the pair have stooped to levels of childish proportions. Practically asinine. Minho’d roll up onto the terrace with a fresh americano, give it an obnoxious sip and yell into the open air, “Boy, it sure is great to be drinking this refreshing cold coffee on a nice cool day, without any sort of <em> public health threat </em> polluting this beautiful view.”</p><p>And he’s almost always guaranteed with a response along the lines of, “You are a slave to caffeine and feeding into the multi-corporate scam to trick you into addiction and pumping thousands of cash dollars into the industry, thus ensuring its livelihood to terrorise the next generation of broke college students, so <em> there </em>!”</p><p>He has a good point, Minho’d concede, but he’d have an equally valid argument. “Why don’t you take that conspiracy theory and think about yourself, Asshole? When you point at someone, four fingers are pointing right back at you.”</p><p>There’d be silence for a short while. “No there isn’t, the thumb points to your side! Can’t even do simple math, can you, Dickwad?”</p><p>Minho’d fumble for a comeback and blurt out, “Maybe I’m a genetically defective person whose fingers can bend backwards.”</p><p>“That’s offensive to the disabled community!”</p><p>"<em>You’re </em> offensive to the disabled community!”</p><p>Like Minho said before, childish.</p><p>Yet, simultaneously, he cannot help but notice that whenever he sets himself up for another smackdown, his shoulders are miraculously untense by the time he settles down to actually study. In his mind, he takes that smoker’s voice, and superimposes it on his most hated people (mostly his asshole professor), and boy, being able to yell immature insults at him is the most relaxing thing Minho has ever experienced in <em> years </em>.</p><p>(He tells Felix just as much, who only wrinkles his nose and says “weirdo” in reply. Minho splashes water onto him for that.)</p><p>Before Minho knows it, finals are within two days, and he has all his incoming assignments completed and proofread by his (over-generous) senior. When he looks at his study binder (more of a haphazardly tossed together clear folder of papers), he is delighted to find that over eighty percent of his topics have been studied and memorised. His brain is like a fax machine, it takes in information and recites it word for word. Minho is <em> cruising </em>.</p><p>And he <em> cannot </em> afford for any kind of disruption.</p><p>Which is why, when he takes up his usual station at his terrace, the first thing he does is lower a Starbucks gift card on a raffia string to the floor below him, dramatically clears his throat and begin his speech, “Foes and friends, but mostly foes, we are gathered here today on this momentous occasion to celebrate this life-changing event. What once started as a bitter rivalry is now about to blossom into a-”</p><p>“What,” a voice cuts into his heartfelt words, utterly unimpressed, “are you doing.”</p><p>Minho drags the string side to side in what he hopes is a seductive way. “Proposing a peace offering. I spent a good amount on this fucker, you’d better like it and fuck off with your cancer stick somewhere else for the rest of our merry days, if you kindly would.”</p><p>“If you think I’ll pick a measly Starbucks card over my favourite smoking spot,” his downstairs neighbour scoffs, and there’s a soft <em> tap </em> , which oddly sounds like a nail hitting a plastic surface, <em> forcefully </em>, “you’ve got another thing coming, Dickwad.”</p><p>Minho takes a deep breath, counts to four, holds for seven, and exhales for eight. <em> Be the bigger person, </em> he tells himself, even though he wants so <em> badly </em> to be the tiny little bitch. “How about just two?” he bargains, trying his best not to let desperation leak into his voice. “Just two days. You can survive two days without your life-shortening emotional support, Wannabe Edgy.” And just because he can’t help himself, he adds on, “Didn’t you know it was only cool to smoke in high school? It’s good to know that I’m talking to a <em> child </em>.”</p><p>A scornful huff. “Well this <em> child </em> happens to like himself a nice good cup of iced Americano, which he <em> will </em> be enjoying with this-” Minho feels several insistent tugs on his string, telling of his neighbour’s efforts to free the card from its bondage. “-free Starbucks card you have so generously gifted me.”</p><p>Minho, however, is quick to yank it back up, making sure to soak in the glee that accompanies the vocal sounds of protest that emit from below. “Ah-ah,” he says scoldingly. “You really thought it was going to be that easy?” He chuckles, relishing in the control he <em> finally </em> has over the situation that has brought him <em> so </em> much frustration. He has the upper hand. The high ground, in both the literal and metaphorical sense. The string he tugs along is his marionette, and his antagonistic neighbour, the puppet forced to acquiesce to his will. <em> Minho is God- </em></p><p>“Oh c’mon!” Asshole objects, snapping Minho out of his power-crazed thoughts. “I’ll follow your stupid request, I swear! I just… precious caffeine…”</p><p>“One urban sin at a time, please.” Minho rolls his eyes. “The next thing I know you’re gonna tell you have some kind of sex addiction.”</p><p>Stilted silence follows, but it in itself says enough for the two of them.<br/>
<br/>
“Jesus, I’m living right above a <em> perv </em>!” Minho exclaims in disgust. “God, I’ll give you your godforsaken card,” his mind races, cranking out yet another genius idea, “just meet me at the lift lobby on my floor. And bring all your cig packs.”</p><p>The demand fires back. “What are you, my mom? Why should I follow your dumb orders-”</p><p>Minho lets the string drop back down ever so slightly, and any and all grievances are cut short by a soft gasp. It gives Minho more pleasure than it should. “... fine,” Asshole grumbles. “Lemme put some pants on.”</p><p>“Perv!” Minho accuses. And he dusts off his boxers, retrieves the card, and heads back indoors. </p>
<hr/><p>Ten minutes later, the lift lets out a pleasant <em> ding </em> as the doors slowly slide open. Minho involuntarily tenses. This is it. His archenemy. His sworn nemesis. The water to his fire. The pure evil to his dubious moral greyness. His eyes hone in on the silhouette just behind the veil of shadow as light slowly seeps in, allowing Minho to finally see the hideous face of the mutt that has plagued his study sessions for so long-</p><p>He bites down hard on a whimper. <em> Fuck. He’s cute. </em></p><p>In complete contrast to the unflattering mental image Minho has built up of his faceless enemy, the eyes his own meet are not arched at an ugly angle, nor the shade of muddy dirt brown. No, indeed, these eyes contain soft, rounded angles, and are coloured a bottomless shade of cocoa. A cute, round nose, and soft, perfectly arched lips, all framed by an angelic halo of blond hair, which is in turn wrapped around by… a Champion beanie. That’s a bit of a turn-off.</p><p>Nevertheless, Minho has to consciously collect himself as his <em> apparently </em> gorgeous rival steps one high top-clad foot out the lift, and towards him. His brown hoodie envelops him and despite its thick hugeness still exposes the true litheness of his body, which is only emphasised by his black skinny jeans. As far as living up to one’s reputation is concerned, Minho can’t help but think Asshole certainly dresses the part.</p><p>The high-top scuffs to a stop a few feet from Minho’s slippers as the two lock eyes. A silent impasse commences, each daring the other to lose their nerve first. Minho thinks he’s never seen such an intense gaze outside of the dance studio before.</p><p>A chime from someone’s phone makes them both jump. Minho clears his throat. “Asshole,” he begins cordially, starting first to assert some dominance in the conversation.</p><p>Asshole inclines his head, equally polite. “Dickwad.”</p><p>A mirthless chuckle erupts from Minho’s throat. He holds a hand out, not an invitation, but a challenge. “The cigs?”</p><p>Matching blow for blow, Asshole simply raises an eyebrow. “The Starbucks card?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Minho fishes for the hard edge of the card and carelessly waves it in the air, snagged between two fingers. “One peace offering, as promised. Now,” his hand extends out once more, this time insistently so. He lowers his voice, knowing his naturally high-pitched tone might make him lose a factor of intimidation. “Hand ‘em over.”</p><p>Asshole scoffs as he digs in his pocket for the small packet of cancer sticks. “Chill out, would you? It’s not like we’re in a movie or anything.” He slaps the box down onto Minho’s outstretched hand. Minho clenches his jaw in his effort to not wince. “Here you go. That’s all I got.”</p><p>Minho casts a doubtful look nonetheless as he opens the flap. Five innocuous white tips stare back at him, as if they haven’t been the cause of all of Minho’s chagrin for the past three weeks. Minho clicks his tongue once and snaps the box back shut. “Couldn’t even save enough money to get a backup, huh?” </p><p>He senses Asshole start to bristle. “Listen, I know you’re just as broke as I am, so why be the pot calling the kettle black?”</p><p>Minho says nothing in reply, only holds out the card, not bothering to look when fingers slip it from his grasp. He waves the box in Asshole’s face, watching gleefully as his eyes follow the movements like a witless kitty. “Exchange one addiction for another, hm?” He studies the box theatrically. “This would make a fine addition to my trash can, don’t you think?”</p><p>This makes Asshole freeze in his tracks. Minho thinks he kind of looks adorable with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “Wh- wait, aren’t you going to return them-”</p><p>Minho clicks his tongue once more, cutting Asshole off. “I paid forty thousand won for this shit, I can do whatever I want with these trash tubes. If you want a refill so badly, why don’t you try and see if the convenience store accepts Starbucks gift cards as legitimate currency? Hm?”</p><p>This, to Minho’s great pleasure, leaves Asshole gawping like a goldfish. <em> Point up for Lee </em>, he thinks delightedly to himself.</p><p>Asshole gives Minho a mighty glare, one that might have another weaker-willed person shaking in their boots. His limbs are practically shaking, his fist squeezed so hard it bends the Starbucks card. “Dickwad,” he seethes. “I want a refund!”</p><p>Minho gives Asshole a jaunty salute as he turns on his heel back to the safety of his apartment before the other can tear him to pieces. “Until next time, Asshole!”</p>
<hr/><p>By the time finals are over, Minho is just about ready to tip over, which is exactly what he does onto his sofa once he gets into his apartment.</p><p>Finals, as expected, had been hell. The lack of Asshole's presence had certainly lightened the load, yet whenever Minho sat himself at the balcony he couldn't help but sniff the air a few times, seeing if he could catch a whiff of the illegally adorable man doing any illegal smoking. Only so he can demand his Starbucks card back again. And maybe see Asshole's cute face again. (Blame him, Minho's a weak man.)</p><p>Surprisingly, to Asshole's credit, all Minho smelled was fresh, cool air, completely oblivious to Minho's academic plight, and definitely not a good target to yell at. At some point in those two days, Minho started missing the phenomenon of yelling over the parapet furiously, to have an equally furious voice yell back. Those, as difficult as it may be to admit it, had been good times.</p><p>But right now, those are the furthest thoughts from Minho's mind, all shoved aside by the dominating urge to just <em> sleep </em>.</p><p>When Minho wakes up, however, it isn't to the pleasant embrace of the evening; instead, it's to an incessant pounding against his front door, not unlike the pounding headache he's developing right about now.</p><p>Mystified, he stumbles towards the door. He hadn't been expecting any visitors. Why would he intentionally add unnecessary stress to an already stressful week? Only an asshole would want to disrupt his desperately needed recuperative period-</p><p>Minho swings the door open, and a frown instantly adorns his face. </p><p>Asshole, leaning against the doorframe (and looking unfairly hot), waves his fingers in a casual greeting. His getup is pretty simple, a sweatshirt and jeans, and without the beanie Minho can see his bleached hair brush over his forehead, giving I-just-woke-up-looking-this-good vibes. Just the type Minho hates. “What’s up?” Asshole asks.</p><p>Minho grunts, and swings the door closed.</p><p>About a minute and a half of persistent knocks later, Minho heaves an exasperated sigh and unlocks the door once more. This time, a heap of clothing crashes onto the floor before his feet, apparently having been in a kneeling position just moments before. In his hand tumbles out a mangled paperclip.</p><p>Minho raises an eyebrow. “Picking my lock? Classy.”</p><p>Asshole gets up with a huff, dusting himself off (which Minho can’t even blame him for; he’s half sure there are at least two layers of dirt caking the front door floor). “Classier than you slamming the door in my face,” he hisses, and promptly wastes no time holding an expectant hand out. “I believe you owe me something.”</p><p>Minho stares in incredulity. Finally, he comes up with, “I got rid of them.”</p><p>At those words Asshole’s eyes get unbelievably wide, almost as if they were saucers. “You <em> what </em>?” he goddamn near shrieks, doing no favours for Minho’s exhausted brain.</p><p>He makes sure his glare communicates just as much. “I said,” he grits out, “I got rid of them, idiot. I dumped them in the trash and took it out the next morning. You’re welcome.”</p><p>“Dude, what the fuck!” Asshole exclaims. “I thought I told you those were the only ones left!”</p><p>Minho raises a single eyebrow in challenge. “And I thought <em> I </em> told <em> you </em> that I intended to throw them away. Don’t pin the blame on me here.”</p><p>Asshole clutches at his hair overdramatically, and some part in the back of Minho’s brain coos at how cute the action is. It’s immediately overridden by annoyance. “No!” Asshole wails. “I was blinded by the promise of free caffeine! I have fallen into a trap!”</p><p>“You,” Minho cuts in irritably, “are cutting into my napping time. I have no idea what kind of lowlife shenanigans you get up to, but I just had a series of extremely tiring finals, and unless you have something valuable to contribute to this apartment,” he points towards the door, practically glowering, “I would like to invite you to <em> get out </em>.”</p><p>Instead of scurrying out obediently like a timid rodent, Asshole gapes openly at Minho. “Finals?” he echoes. “I had finals too. They ended yesterday.”</p><p>Minho gives this response a generous two blinks, before forcefully grabbing Asshole’s sweatshirt and shoving him towards the door. “Wonderful! Then you fully understand my sentiments and know how much this will mean to me if you make yourself scarce, much obliged, thank you for your time, if you will just be on your way…”</p><p>“Wh- wait!” Asshole struggles against Minho’s pushing, but his scrawny limbs are no match for Minho’s dancer muscles, fueled by anger and the urgent need to pass out. “I- wait!”</p><p>“... thank you, and have a good day!” Minho closes the door on Asshole for the second time that day. The slam brings him more satisfaction than it should.</p>
<hr/><p>Felix whoops as he cannonballs crash-lands onto the sofa, much to Minho’s chagrin. “Thanks again for agreeing to lend me your shirt, hyung,” the younger says, beaming in a way that Minho just <em> cannot </em> summon any anger against.</p><p>He waves away Felix’s gratitude, walking towards the room to retrieve the item Felix requested. “Whatever. I haven’t worn it in a long time anyway.”</p><p>From his closet he pulls out a sleek silk shirt, gleaming black in the white light of his bedroom. It truly is magnificent as it is seductive, and the perfect item for parties and nights out. Too bad Minho hasn’t had the chance to wear it lately.</p><p>“I still don’t understand why you’d want to wear <em> this </em> to a friendly little gathering,” he comments as he returns to the living room, where Felix awaits his parcel. “I mean, I know you’re head over heels for Seungmin but you really don’t need to be this obnoxious about it.”</p><p>Felix turns a brilliant red at Minho’s words. “No!” he yelps way too quickly for it to be unsuspicious. “Who said anything about Seungmin? I didn’t even know he was coming!”</p><p>“That was the first thing you asked when Chan invited the both of us to his gathering,” Minho deadpans, leaving Felix spluttering for a reply.</p><p>The younger soon recovers from Minho’s attack, and starts firing back, “Okay, and why aren’t <em> you </em> dressing up a little? Chan mentioned that he had someone he really wanted you to meet and that you two would get along well together. I think he even said you two live really close by to each other, they might have seen you around and you don’t even know it. Aren’t you gonna try for a good first impression?”</p><p>Minho scoffs, dramatically flipping his invisible hair. “Bitch, my face already is a good first impression.”</p><p>Felix just rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Right. Keep telling yourself that, hyung.”</p><p>“Another word, and I’m taking back the shirt.”</p><p>At this Felix dashes out the door, running down the corridor as he yells over his shoulder, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, hyung!”</p><p>Minho just laughs, and shuts the door. Even so, Felix’s words tumble around in his laundry-dryer mind, tossing and turning and letting his brain absorb all its juice. Huh. Perhaps Minho should try to put some actual effort into his look this weekend. After feeling like absolute shit for the past few days, it would do miraculous wonders for his self-confidence too. </p><p>Which is why, when he meets Felix to head to Chan’s house together, Felix whistles as soon as he lays eyes on Minho.</p><p>“<em>Damn</em>,” the freckled boy says appreciatively. “You clean up nice when you want to. You really thought about what I said, huh?”</p><p>To be fair, Minho might have gone a <em> tad </em> overboard. Besides slicking his hair back with a bit of gel, he had decided to pair up a casual white blouse with his secret weapon: black leather pants. What was that saying about not caring about the objectifying male gaze? That would be Minho’s mantra for the evening.</p><p>“What are you talking about, I always look this great.” Minho starts walking towards the bus stop, leaving Felix to tag along and catch up like an eager puppy. “I can’t wait to find out what Chan’s ordered for dinner tonight. I feel like breaking a diet or two.”</p><p>As the two settle down to wait for their ride, Minho sees a slender figure wearing a cap, glasses and a mask walk out of his apartment complex, and hail a taxi. The view is quickly obscured by the arrival of the bus, on which Minho attracts more than just one stare, much to his pleasure, and Felix’s playful disgust.</p><p>Chan’s place is situated in a decent neighbourhood, with nice restaurants lining up just a few streets down. It would be from these eateries that Chan would order the takeout to feed his hungry guests, something Minho always looked forward to whenever he was invited over. Chan himself was a wonderful senior, some would even say model, because he was hardworking, excelled at what he did, and would always treat everyone with a genuine smile. He’d gotten some bad rumours spread about him because people couldn’t believe he was really <em> that perfect </em>, but Minho blames that on the human sin of envy. What a shame they couldn’t see Chan’s character beyond the miniscule flaws that they picked out of him.</p><p>"Hey," Felix says as they walk up the street to their destination. "Aren't those Seungmin, Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin?"</p><p>He points to an odd trio of silhouettes in front of them, consisting of two tall, lanky figures and in between, a dip in the line of heads owing to a shorter, stouter figure, forming a funny kind of 'w'.</p><p>"No it isn't," Minho replies. "That's Hyunjin, Seungmin, and a kindergartener."</p><p>Felix squints harder. “Oh damn, you’re right.” He turns to Minho, mischief glinting in his brown eyes. “Wanna scare them?”</p><p>Minho rolls his eyes in derision. “You can go on ahead without me, I’ll stay behind and drink in their screams of fear.”</p><p>Felix grins. “You’re the best, hyung.”</p><p>Those words, said by none other than Lee Felix, would have made any grown man blush. But Minho just grins back cockily, replying, “I know right.”</p><p>With a playful scoff, Felix dashes off.</p><p>Soon, Hyunjin and Changbin’s terrified shouts fill the air, and Minho sighs languidly. A true symphony for his ears. He increases his pace, catching up to where the group have halted in the middle of their tracks, Hyunjin dramatically clutching his chest and Changbin giving Felix a noogie in revenge. “What’s up, scaredy-cats,” Minho greets as he gets within earshot.</p><p>“I bet hyung set Felix up to jumpscare us,” Seungmin says solemnly, shooting Minho a stink eye. “Felix is too sweet to do such an evil thing.”</p><p>“And I've just decided you’re gonna be next victim, Kim Seungmin.” Minho plays along with the antagonistic dynamic the two have formed between themselves, and makes an ‘I’m watching you’ motion with his two fingers. “Sleep with one eye open tonight.”</p><p>In all honesty, he wouldn’t murder Seungmin in the dead of night. The younger deserves more honour and dignity than that. The truth is far from reality; Seungmin's a good kid, but due to a series of unfortunate misunderstandings and a clash in personalities, the two simply cannot be made to get along well with each other when put in the same room together. Thankfully, each of them have taken it in their stride, shooting playful jabs and insults, but nothing ever truly damaging. It’s good for Minho to blow off steam whenever they meet too, from the various stresses of life.</p><p>“Forget Seungmin,” Changbin says, still getting in one last rub before Felix breaks free from his formidable hold. “Lee Felix over here better be sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m going to sneak in and steal his entire makeup collection.”</p><p>At that threat Felix falls to his knees with a desperate wail. “<em> Noooo! Anything but the makeup! </em>”</p><p>With a round of laughter, the group resume their trek to Chan’s place, sharing between them jokes and anecdotes (and in Minho’s and Seungmin’s case, snide insults).</p><p>When they finally arrive at the location Felix eagerly bounds up to the front door to jam the doorbell thrice in rapid succession.</p><p>Hyunjin sniffs in disapproval. “Enthusiastic much?”</p><p>“What?’ Felix shrugs. “I’m hungry.”</p><p>“Same, bitch,” Minho and Seungmin say in unison, before shooting each other stunned looks.</p><p>They’re saved from any further conversation when the door swings open, revealing none other than a beaming, dimpled grin that would never fail to make people coo in adoration.</p><p>“Hyungs!” Jeongin exclaims, yanking the door open to its full capacity. “You’re here!”</p><p>The boisterous group flood into the house, each taking their own turn to ‘greet’ Jeongin; that is to say, treat him with various methods of affection, including but not limited to: pinching his cheeks, pretending to bite him, squishing him in a hug and shaking his shoulders wildly yelling ‘CUTE!!!!’. Minho opts for a simple nod of his head, because the poor boy’s been put through enough.</p><p>As the newcomers settle down into the neatly furnished and decorated house, Chan emerges from the kitchen, his hair a fresh shade of brilliant red. Felix immediately charges towards him for an Aussie Bro Hug, whilst the rest shout out their respective ‘hello’s.</p><p>“Hey everyone,” Chan says warmly, shifting a clingy Felix to the side of his waist like one would a koala bear, “I’m so glad you could make it today! I know finals have recently ended for some of you so I thought it would be nice for us to gather and, you know, relax a bit. Dinner’s on me tonight!”</p><p>The room erupts into cheers as the boys whoop at the prospect of free dinner. Minho and Hyunjin exchange identical grins of triumph. Chan really is too good to be true. </p><p>Then, in the corridor, a door opens, and a voice drifts out. “Wait, who just won the lottery?”</p><p>Minho’s grin morphs into a frown almost instantaneously. That voice was oddly familiar.</p><p>Another person emerges from the corridor, mussing up a mop of blond hair, in an oversized crew sweater and a nice pair of bleached skinny jeans, very reminiscent of a certain neighbour Minho has the pleasure of living above. Minho can’t help but freeze, stuck staring in disbelief. However, to his surprise, Chan perks up at the new arrival, signifying that this, contrary to what must be popular belief, was not a break-in.</p><p>“Everyone!” he calls out, catching the attention of the whole room. Heads turn, and to even greater surprise from Minho, Asshole seems to shrink back a bit at the sudden attention. “I think I’ve told you I’d invited one of my songwriting hoobaes tonight, right? This,” he gestures to Asshole, who’s looking anywhere but at the people in the room, “is Jisung. He’s very musically talented, and he’s an amazing rapper too.”</p><p>Fuck, even his name is kinda cute.</p><p>He gives Asshole- Jisung a little nudge, like a schoolteacher prompting a new kid on their first day. Jisung snaps to attention, giving a slight, polite bow as he sweeps his gaze across the room. Minho waits until his sight lands on himself, leaning back leisurely against the wall, not unlike the position in which he had first encountered Jisung. Once Jisung’s eyes land on Minho, shock ripples through his expression, then a comedic mixture of anger and confusion.</p><p>But, expectant eyes are on him, so Jisung tears his gaze away and addresses everybody. “Hi,” he says, in an uncharacteristically meek tone, one Minho never thought would hear from the furious, acidic voice that hollers at him from below his feet. The effort it takes to reconcile the two is immense. And yet, here Jisung is, a walking paradox, a soft-spoken shouter, a smoker who acts like he goes to church on Sundays with his parents. “I’m Jisung, glad to make your acquaintance. Uhm,” he scratches the back of his head, hesitant, and oh-so-soft, “I brought soda?”</p><p>“Hell yes!” Felix hollers, and the mood in the room instantly brightens.</p><p>“Minho!” Minho’s hearing is piqued when he hears someone call his name. Turns out, it’s Chan, who beckons him over with a small wave. He gestures to Jisung, who’s starting to look like he’d rather be anywhere but here. And Minho can blame him for a lot of things, but this time, he really can’t. He’d rather stand at the edge of a fifty-storey building than be here.</p><p>Chan, completely and blissfully oblivious to the silent tension hanging between them, continues his introduction, “This is the person I said I'd like you to meet. You both have similar interests and I thought you two would get along well together, so," he takes Minho's reluctant hand and Jisung's equally reluctant one, linking them in a stiff handshake. A slight shiver runs down Minho’s spine as he feels the slight roughness of Jisung’s warm hands, “Minho, this is Jisung, and Jisung, this is Minho.” He sends Minho a suggestive wink before meandering off. “Have a good time, you two!”</p><p>All of a sudden, Chan’s voice from a little while back echoes in Minho’s head. <em> “You’re so tensed up nowadays,” </em> he had said. <em> “Maybe it’s time to find another way to unwind besides staring blankly at your wall for three hours straight.” </em></p><p>Apparently, when Chan had said that, that had been code for <em> get laid </em> . As in, get laid with <em> Jisung </em> . <em> As in, </em>Minho got all dressed up… for his nemesis whom he yells at every other day of the week and would love to personally send off to hell. Judging from Jisung’s miffed expression and what Minho can vaguely perceive as BB cream, he jumped to similar conclusions. And now, they have both found themselves in a very. Awkward. Situation.</p><p>At least Minho knows which way Jisung swings, even if he can't be blamed for having a little difficulty in believing it. As much as it pleases Minho's gay agenda, that still doesn't make him any more likeable in Minho's eyes.</p><p>A movement in his hand reminds Minho that he and Jisung are still stuck in a quasi-handshake, which they make haste to break with very stilted <em> ahem </em>s.</p><p>Minho casts a furtive glance towards Chan, who has started conversation with Changbin and Hyunjin a small distance away. “Asshole,” he says, not bothering to hide the iciness in his voice.</p><p>“Dickwad,” Jisung replies instantly, though with a noticeable lack of malice. He heaves a heavy sigh, which Minho empathises wholeheartedly with, the first time he’s ever sympathised with Jisung. “Listen, I think we both know better than to make Chan-hyung sad, so as much as I would like to tear you to pieces right here and now,” he holds out a pinky, looking at Minho almost imploringly despite his menacing words, “truce?”</p><p>Minho allows himself to pause for a short second to judge Jisung’s method of oath swearing, before linking their pinkies and joining their thumbs, sending yet another zing through his nervous system. “Truce.” He makes eye contact with Jisung again, and can’t help but feel drawn towards their alluring glow. “I think we may also need to have an actual conversation. Preferably with smiling and laughing involved.”</p><p>Jisung chuckles bitterly under his breath, shaking his head like he’s about to undertake a tough task. “Right, right. Piece of cake.” He looks Minho in the eye, expression dead serious. “You’re going to laugh now at the hilarious joke I just made.”</p><p>Despite himself Minho can feel a genuine laugh bubbling through, because <em> what the fuck, this asshole’s actually a little funny </em>. The curl in his lips doesn’t escape Jisung, who sends a soft giggle back. And perhaps the sound made Minho’s heart skip a tiny beat. Just a tiny one.</p><p>“Why do you have to be the funny one?” he challenges. “I didn’t see anything like that in the script. What if I was the one who made the joke and <em> you’re </em> supposed to laugh?”</p><p>“That’s because I’m funnier, Dickwad,” Jisung shoots back, but a coy smile is playing on his lips.</p><p>Minho ignores his wildly palpitating heart in favour of continuing the aimless small talk. “So,” he begins, “apparently we have the same interests.” He raises an eyebrow at his neighbour. “You dabble in songwriting?”</p><p>“I major in music,” Jisung states, a hint of smugness tinting his tone. Minho resists the urge to roll his eyes. Why are cute boys always so full of themselves? </p><p>“Cool,” Minho chooses to say instead. “I’m in computer science.”</p><p>Jisung wrinkles his nose. “Oh, okay. Definitely no common ground there.” He sinks into thought for a moment, and <em> maybe </em> Minho might have died a little inside at the adorable furrow in his eyebrows. “Favourite hobby?”</p><p>“Dancing,” Minho replies confidently.</p><p>However, Jisung frowns. “Watching anime.” <em> So that’s where he gets his perv tendencies from. </em> “Favourite drink?”</p><p>Minho recalls his words from their last conversation over the balcony. “Same as yours. Iced Americano.”</p><p>The two exchange looks of pleasant surprise. They’ve found common ground.</p><p>“Favourite food?” Jisung presses, energised by their sudden discovery. Minho tries not to find his energy adorable. He fails.</p><p>“I always like myself some good Japanese,” Minho admits.</p><p>Jisung’s eyes honest-to-god <em> gleam </em> as his mouth splits into a grin that could rival Felix’s megawatt smile. “Same!” His expression suddenly falls, as he remembers who he’s talking to. For the briefest of seconds, Minho mourns the loss of that smile. “I mean. I like Japanese too, I guess.”</p><p>Not wanting to deal with the turmoil of emotions roiling inside him, Minho pipes up, “Alright, why don’t I fetch the two of us two cans of kindly sponsored soda, and we can scarf down some free food?”</p><p>When Jisung’s expression brightens again, an instinct rises in Minho to try his goddamn best to keep that happiness there. “Sure!”</p><p>Minho shoves his protective instinct aside, trying not to give it too much thought.</p><p>But as the night wears on, Minho finds himself actively seeking out Jisung’s company. After getting over his initial shyness Minho has found that Jisung is, in fact, not a complete asshole. It was almost as if Jisung was completely unaffected by Minho's more cutting statements, something that typically would have driven strangers off. Instead, Jisung takes whatever playful insult flies off Minho's tongue, and spins it by the loom of his wits to transform it into a blade to point right back at Minho. If he’s honest, something about Jisung’s aura when the younger (as they found out while they were stuffing their faces with fried chicken) isn’t butting heads with him draws him in like a magnet, two opposite poles naturally attracted to each other, impossible to stay apart. And Minho can’t find it within himself to resist the pull.</p><p>So he always ensures he’s within a close proximity of Jisung, whether conscious or subconscious, snatching up conversation whenever he can or purely basking in Jisung’s presence, all while he wilfully ignores the obvious stares from Chan. Chan can be satisfied for all he wants with his so-called matchmaker instinct, Minho doesn't like Jisung <em> that </em> way. He just finds him a particularly charming individual, with a startling duality. Sue him for harbouring a little curiosity towards this mini-enigma.</p><p>And if Jisung notices any of Minho’s sudden interest, the younger shows no sign of it. Instead, he grins along with Minho’s deadpan jokes as if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a week before, yells when Minho makes an outrageous statement like he’d known Minho for years, and occasionally, just occasionally, peers up at Minho with the sparkliest of eyes, which totally doesn’t make Minho’s heart melt on the spot. If Minho didn’t know better, he’d say that he and Jisung had incredible synergy, finding surprising solace in each other’s commonalities and differences alike. By the end of the night, he and Jisung end up curled next to each other on the sofa, laughing until their stomachs hurt at Changbin and Hyunjin’s drunk antics. (Changbin had bought cheap beer and they broke into Chan’s liquor cabinet. They banned Jeongin from drinking, though, which made him pout.)</p><p>A line is crossed, however, when Hyunjin accidentally knocks over the coffee table and falls onto the floor, unmoving. “Uh, guys?” Changbin drawls, poking hesitantly at the younger’s side. “Is he dead?”</p><p>In response, Hyunjin lets out a grand, loud snort, and rolls over, squashing Changbin’s hand. The victim squawks and tries — to no avail — to tug his hand out from under the massive weight.</p><p>“I think it’s been a night for us,” Seungmin says from the loveseat, where he currently has a dozing Felix draped on his shoulder, even more clingy as a drunk. The other is somehow still partially sober, even after a few helpings of alcohol himself. “I’m going to deposit the koala at his house then head home for a good sleep.”</p><p>Jeongin stretches with a loud yawn that startles Hyunjin into the waking world once more. “Yup, that’s gonna be in order.” He heads for the door, collecting his things, but not before nearly tripping over Hyunjin, who hasn’t moved from the floor. “I think Mister Tube Man’s going to be spending a night here.”</p><p>A soft voice speaks lowly into Minho’s ear, as if it was only for him to hear. “We live in the same block, right?” Jisung murmurs, head tilted back against the sofa in a drowsy state as he hadn’t exactly gone light on the drinks. “We can head home together.”</p><p>Minho tries not to stare at how the golden-white ceiling light makes Jisung’s skin practically glow. “Sure,” he says. “Wanna call a cab?”</p><p>Jisung looks away from Minho, letting his eyes flutter closed, and Minho can’t help but think to himself, <em> beautiful. </em> “Whatever works for you-” his reply is cut off by a massive yawn, strikingly similar to a sleepy kitten, “-I guess...”</p><p>Minho gazes on, and tries not to give in to the wild pounding in his chest.</p><p>In the end, they share a cab with Felix and Seungmin, the latter of which has generously volunteered to get Felix home, seeing as he knows the door code. Minho has a sneaking suspicion Seungmin might hang around a bit longer than needed to get Felix into bed, judging from the affection in his eyes as he looks upon the soundly sleeping boy. Even so, when they reach Felix’s house, they find themselves in a dilemma. For Jisung, sleepy, tipsy Jisung, had fallen asleep on the ride there as well, lulled by the soft rumble of the cab’s engine. This wouldn’t have been a problem, it if weren’t for the fact that he had done so… on Minho’s shoulder.</p><p>Minho glances at Seungmin, with his stick-like limbs, then at Jisung, then back up at Seungmin with his best sheepish ‘you understand’ grin. Seungmin huffs and rolls his eyes, but dutifully pays his half of the fare and reluctantly shakes Felix awake, leaving the Australian disconcerted and disoriented as Seungmin swings his arm over his shoulder and commences the stumble to the front door. If Minho asks the cab driver to wait a while more to make sure they get inside safely, that stays between him, the driver, and an unconscious Jisung. </p><p>When it comes to Minho’s turn to get both himself and Jisung back, he has no qualms whatsoever. After paying the fare and bidding the driver goodnight he places Jisung’s deadweight limbs into position, before scooping him up into his arms, bridal carry style. Even for his small size, Jisung is unexpectedly light to lift. Minho doesn’t bother to pause and think about the implications of his actions; he just lumbers into the complex, encumbered by the extra weight.</p><p>As Minho steps into the elevator, deftly maneuvering Jisung’s feet to avoid the walls, the younger lets out a soft sigh in his sleep, and curls into Minho’s sternum, pressing against his warmth. Minho’s heart jackhammers in his chest, going so fast he actually fears he might get a cardiac arrest. This — dare he say — <em> ethereal </em> boy lies completely at peace in Minho’s hold, swallowed up by the oversized clothes he seems to wear as a fashion statement, looking so small and precious in his slumber that Minho cannot help but want to pet his hair and scratch his chin.</p><p>Oh fuck. Minho may have just found his fifth cat. </p><p>The elevator lets out a cheerful chime as the doors slide open and Minho is fast to walk out, counting the unit numbers to the one directly under his own apartment. Although he doubts it’ll work, he uses one hand to jiggle the door handle. To his shock, the handle gives way, and the door swings wide open. Unsure if he should be thankful or concerned, Minho steps in.</p><p>To his surprise, the room doesn’t smell like cigarettes. <em> Oh right, </em> he remembers, <em> that’s because he does all his business on the balcony. </em> He looks around for where he remembers the light switch is, and gives it a good bonk with his head to turn it on. Upon illuminating the small living room, Minho stares at the scene before him in horror. This is his desk, but <em> amplified </em>, and much, much worse. Items are thrown in a disarray in every corner he can see; a book here, a tissue box there, a pair of headphones and a Midi keyboard somewhere else… The place is a pigsty. Appropriate, he figures, since it houses an actual pig.</p><p>As Minho ventures further into the apartment, he feels sudden movement from Jisung. He freezes for a moment, as Jisung’s fingers start to twitch. When Jisung’s eyes flit open, Minho can only watch as they slowly shift upwards, squinting in the glaring light to see him.</p><p>“Hey,” Minho greets, for lack of a better thing to say.</p><p>Jisung shifts around in Minho’s arms as he fully comes to, the reality of his current situation sinking in. Minho could be imagining things, but Jisung’s cheeks tinge ever so slightly pink. “Um,” Jisung says, voice raspy with sleep and completely endearing, “hello.”</p><p>“You’re fucking heavy, dude,” Minho tells him, even though not a moment ago he had been effortlessly hauling Jisung into the place.</p><p>Jisung fights his way to talk through a yawn. “My hotness makes up most of the weight, I’d imagine.”</p><p>“More like the nicotine in your lungs,” Minho snorts.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Jisung shoots back, but in his sleepy tone the words don’t have a hint of aggression in them. “Wait,” he says abruptly, as rational thought catches up with him. “Did you break into my house?”</p><p>“You were the one who left the door unlocked,” Minho accuses. “The other option was to drop your ass there and leave.”</p><p>Jisung gives an offended ‘hmph’. “You chose wisely,” he replies, before turning around to look at his door. “Okay, um, nice of you to show off your strength, but do you think you could put me down?”</p><p>Immediately Minho unhinges his arms, sending Jisung tumbling down with a startled shout. He lands with a small “oof” on the sofa beneath him, bouncing from the impact.</p><p>Recovering quickly from the shock, Jisung glares up at Minho, anger resparked in his eyes. “Dude!” he exclaims. “What the fuck?” </p><p><em> Yep </em>, Minho thinks, there’s the indignant tone he hears every time he yells over the side of his balcony. “You wanted me to put you down,” he says defensively.</p><p>“Yeah, but not like that-” Jisung growls in frustration, but now, Minho doesn't feel the same vengeful satisfaction he used to whenever he riled Asshole up, nor the same irritation when Asshole would fire back with another retort. “You know what I meant!”</p><p>“Duly noted, next time I’ll dump you in the trash, like I did with your cigarettes,” Minho says drily. “Or maybe you would rather I carry you like a baby?” He cranks up his pitch, putting on the baby voice he always uses with his cats, and pours his lips out. “I’ll put wittle bwaby Jwisung in a bunch of bwankets, wock you to sweep, then way you down and gwive you your miwk bottwle, hmm? Do you want that, baby?”</p><p>"Oh my god, I fucking hate you," Jisung snaps, but in the light of the living room, Minho can very clearly see the tips of Jisung's ears, thoroughly flushed cherry red, and his voice holds considerably much lesser venom than normal, although that was probably the alcohol speaking. Hastily Jisung scrambles up from the sofa, dusting himself off before grabbing Minho's blouse and dragging towards his door. "I gotta go to bed now, so if you would kindly leave right now-"</p><p>Minho involuntarily struggles against the insistent tugs. How does Jisung's scrawny body have this much strength in it? "What- hey- I can see myself out-"</p><p>Jisung lets go once they reach the door. "Oh, this isn't me being nice," he declares, eyes wide with earnest malice. Minho knows he's lost his marbles when he feels a sense of <em>fondness</em> blooming at Jisung's childish mannerisms. What the <em>fuck</em> is wrong with him. "That was payback. And you still haven't gotten me my cigarettes!"</p><p>"The fu-" Jisung's door swings closed on Minho before he can get another word in. Normally Minho would be pissed, but he is also a fair person. He'd slammed the door in Jisung's face <em> twice </em> now, maybe Jisung deserved the right to do it back to him. Karma is a bitch, after all.</p><p>Minho chuckles to the empty space between him and the door, and heads back to the lift lobby. Tonight has certainly been <em> something</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Minho's nose twitches when he detects hints of burning nicotine from where he's standing near the balcony entrance as he scrolls through his phone. Eyes narrowing in suspicion he heads outside into the open air, taking a massive gulp of air before choking and coughing out as much of it as he can. Yup, Asshole's back at it.</p><p>But now, instead of yelling empty threats and insults, Minho can now take the business directly to the person. And so he does, making the short trip down to rap rapidly on Jisung’s door. A delayed response reveals to Minho’s ears that Jisung is in fact listening to loud hip hop music that would certainly drown out any sort of average knocking sound. Minho huffs in irritation. He hasn’t even known Jisung for that long, but this somehow does not surprise him one bit. Even so, Minho is now stuck here, nowhere close to solving his problem. Unless…</p><p>Going on a hunch, Minho tries to door handle once more. It turns. <em> Ha. What an idiot. </em></p><p>“You know,” Minho says as he enters the apartment, pinching his nose to prevent that toxic smell from touching his olfactory senses, “you have far too much confidence in your self-defence skills to leave your door unguarded like this.”</p><p>Jisung screams, dropping his cigarette from his mouth as he jumps in fright from Minho’s entry. The stick falls to the balcony floor sadly.</p><p>“Surprise, bitch,” Minho does sarcastic jazz hands. “This is a break-in. Gimme all your money.”</p><p>“Bold of you to assume I <em> have </em> money, Dickwad,” Jisung picks up the snuffed cig, brushing the dust off his hoodie. (Is that all he ever wears?) “And even stupider of you to not already know that I spent all of said money on these babies.” He heads back into the house, giving the innocuous box lying on the table a tight slap.</p><p><em> Damn, if only he could do that to my ass- No. Do not. </em> </p><p>“Dude, <em> seriously </em>?” Minho picks up the box and scrutinises it in the light. It looks back at him, the perfect picture of innocence and not like it’s lung cancer manifested. “I threw your old pack away for a reason, you know.”</p><p>“Because you paid for it in Starbucks money, right?” Minho can’t hold back his scoff. Does Jisung do it on purpose or is he really this dumb? “I know the smell is annoying, but maybe you could just, I dunno, go somewhere else? What are you doing on a balcony if you’re not smoking anyway?”</p><p>“Something much more productive than contributing to the greenhouse gas effect,” Minho replies. “Listen, this is a lose-lose situation for both of us. I can’t focus on my revision, and you’re going to slowly and tragically die of lung infection at age forty. Something has to be done.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Jisung steps closer to Minho, a challenge in his eyes. Minho has to restrict any and all thoughts about how cute Jisung looks despite him wearing a snapback, possibly the straightest style a het man can have- Minho subtly shakes his head. This kid's gotta have issues if Minho, a gayest gay to ever gay, keeps mistaking him as a straight. “The only thing that needs to be done is to move you out.”</p><p>Minho halts to give Jisung a deadpan look. He knows they’re intimidating as hell. And sure enough, Jisung chickens out not five seconds later. “Yeah, you can’t afford to,” he concedes, looking away, but he quickly whips his head back to face Minho, expression spirited. “But! You can’t make me do anything I don’t consent to against my will! So there!”</p><p>“Including...” Once more, Minho lets the deadpan eyes strike, “... letting yourself die slowly from cumulative respiratory issues. Look, dying early in life is your own decision, but I personally don't want to be caught in the crossfire between you and your date with death. And I'd like to think if <em>my</em> health is involved, I should have a pretty decent say in what happens around here.”</p><p>"Not before I send you to an even earlier death!" Jisung blurts out, like a little kid, but as soon as it's out he begins to look like he regrets his words. “Okay, um, maybe that wasn’t the <em>best</em> way to put it…”</p><p>Seeing Jisung in a crisis makes something inside Minho heart twinge ever so slightly in sympathy. He doesn’t even know why. Jisung was all up in his face ready to fight him just a minute ago and here he is, letting it go so easily? He should leave this self-entitled asshole out in the freezing wilderness to fend for himself. Instead, Minho finds himself taking up the cigarette box, and holding it up. An invitation to the nice warm fireplace in the cosy civilised cabin. “Alright,” he says, “let’s make a deal.”</p><p>Jisung perks up, glancing at Minho in curiosity. Minho shakes the box a bit in his hand, feeling its toxic contents bumping against the paper walls. “I’ll bring this back home with me,” he proposes, at which point Jisung starts to whine. “Ah-ah,” he cuts off the petulant man to continue, “and whenever you can smoke, you have to come up to my house to get your cigarette. That way I'll know when to avoid the balcony so you can do your thing, and we won't have to waste our breath yelling insults at each other until the cows come home. Does that sound good to you?”</p><p>Minho can see the gears turning in Jisung’s head as he ponders Minho’s proposition. “So… you won’t throw them away?” he asks hesitantly, like a small child saying goodbye to their stuffed toy when they leave for vacation. “I can still come up and get them whenever I want to?”</p><p>“Not whenever,” Minho corrects gently, because even though Jisung calls him Dickwad, he isn't <em> that </em> much of a dick. “I’ll say yes or no, depending on the situation. And in the meantime, you cannot get your own pack, okay? I will strangle you before your cigs ever do if you get your own pack. If you ever feel like smoking, you come to me.”</p><p>Jisung runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Jeez, I dunno,” he admits. “I just… " He lets out a rueful laugh. "We only just officially met like a week ago."</p><p>"Oh," Minho frowns as the sobering reality hits his brain before it can run away with his crazy idea. Of course Jisung would have trouble trusting him. They had spent the better half of their time as mutually acknowledged neighbours insulting each other, plus they'd only spent one night getting to <em> kinda </em> know each other. They aren't exactly the <em> chummiest </em> of pals.</p><p>"Alright," Minho says, "how about this: we get to know each other, you start to trust me, and I can steal your cigarettes, not necessarily in that order." <em> And check you out the entire time </em>, he adds silently, because he is still a weak man who has his needs. “Does that sound good to you?”</p><p>Jisung bites his lip, which Minho finds unfairly attractive considering this is a man who inhales death in his lungs. “I suppose… I don’t have anything to do on Saturday afternoon..."</p><p>"Saturday, hm?" Minho thinks about the post-dance session trips he'd go on with Felix, then evaluates the surprisingly meek man before him. When he'd thought all those adoring things about Jisung on the night of Chan's party, he'd chalked up to inebriation and going too long without being boned. But now, in the late afternoon sunlight, with dust particles flying around and surrounding Jisung's face like a pollution halo, Minho can feel himself just as smitten as he was under the influence. It isn't just the looks this time, there was something alluring about this person, making something resonate within Minho, like playing a glass at just the right frequency to shatter itself. This isn't good. If Minho does this, he's signing himself up for certain doom. He could walk out right now, pretend this never happened and prep himself with a lifetime's supply of masks to solve the issue instead. It would be that simple.</p><p>Minho takes a deep breath and looks up. Jisung's eyes are indeed a stunning shade of chocolate.</p><p>"I think Saturday afternoon would work just fine."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so..... here we are!</p><p>i'm so sorry i couldn't get the entire thing finished,, in my (weak) defence i had no clue this was going to drag out so far and deadlines seem so far away when they aren't literally the next day..... although, i have to say that i genuinely had a lot of fun writing this, even with all the panicking and stress. i hope you guys enjoyed this fic as much as i did making it :")</p><p>i hope yall can stick around for the second part though!! i'll try my best to get it up soon, but considering school has just been wacky these days ,, unfortunately i can't promise anything soon for certain :(</p><p>i have a <a href="https://twitter.com/straycelestials">twitter</a> that i sometimes yell on about my writing !! plus, a small reminder to look after yourself during this time of skz drought :"") take breaks if u need to, remember not to overwhelm yourself and my dms are always open if u need a chat! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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